Zhang Qiling caught up with Wu Xie just in time to save him once more. He hadn’t meant for this to become a habit, he thought as the newly-diced parasitic worms fell to the floor, but it seemed to have become one anyway.
There wasn’t time, just now, to focus on how Wu Xie’s eyes lit up and his whole body turned towards Zhang Qiling with a smile. That would come later, when they were out of the tomb and the immediate dangers had passed. Then, in safety, Zhang Qiling could learn what Wu Xie was looking for.
(Zhang Qiling stayed with Wu Xie, this time; he never wanted to vanish when they were preparing to enter a tomb. Even when they weren’t, he’d had plenty of experience hearing the frustration and grief in Wu Xie’s voice when Zhang Qiling disappeared on him. He lingered closer by than he should, sometimes, wanting—
He didn’t know how to talk about what he wanted. He just knew that Wu Xie’s care for him made him come back, again and again, despite having no contract saying he must.)
It took longer than Zhang Qiling expected to learn those answers; for the first few days, Wu Xie was too busy worrying about Pangzi and wondering about the village elder they’d brought out of the ruined tower with them. Still, Zhang Qiling let him have his silence. There was time, he thought, watching Pangzi recover and Wu Xie’s smiles come more easily. The only urgency lay in Wu Xie’s heart.
After the feast, when Wu Xie finally started talking, it took Zhang Qiling a minute to understand that Wu Xie was trying to push them away.
His first reaction was confusion. His second was to look at Pangzi, whose face spoke of resignation and having had this argument before. His third, when Wu Xie left, was to follow in search of better answers.
“Give us some time,” he told Pangzi, knowing he would put together all the reasons Zhang Qiling had for trailing Wu Xie so closely. Sometimes, Zhang Qiling thought Pangzi understood what drew them together better than they themselves did, with his clever eyes and kind heart.
Pangzi didn’t respond, which itself was an argument for his understanding; silence was the gift he gave when there weren’t any questions he wanted to ask.
The door to their room was still open when Zhang Qiling reached it. He entered silently—to do otherwise took effort—and saw Wu Xie sitting at the foot of the bed, watching him. He’d expected this, then. Maybe he’d even intended this; Zhang Qiling had yet to grasp the pattern behind what Wu Xie chose to share with him alone instead of with him and Pangzi both.
Zhang Qiling met his eyes briefly, then turned and made sure the door and windows were all shut. He wasn’t certain what was coming; he just knew that this conversation wasn’t for prying eyes or ears. The motions, too, were soothing in their precision and simplicity.
(Wu Xie was not simple. Wu Xie acted like the reasoning behind his choices was simple, but his internal clarity was complex and confusing. The only element Zhang Qiling was certain of was Wu Xie’s faith in the people he loved; but even that certainty was for its existence, not for how it drove his actions in the world.)
“Did you mean it?” Wu Xie asked, when Zhang Qiling finished and the room was lit only by the lamp flickering on the bedside table.
Zhang Qiling tilted his head in question. He had no reason to say things he didn’t mean.
“That you’d go with me.” Wu Xie’s fingers twisted together and his toes tapped, rhythmless, on the floor. “It’s dangerous.”
Zhang Qiling slowly approached him. “It is.” More to Wu Xie than to him, and they both knew that. If Wu Xie was insisting on ignoring that truth, then it was all the more reason he needed someone by his side. Zhang Qiling knew just how capable he was, but he couldn’t help Wu Xie if he wasn’t nearby; the debacle at Fog Village had proven that admirably.
Wu Xie’s mouth curved down and eyes were sorrow-soft. “Xiao-ge…”
“There’s so much you don’t know.” Zhang Qiling stopped a pace away from Wu Xie. Almost close enough to touch. Too close to avoid contact, if Wu Xie wanted to reach him. “The dangers multiply.”
“Why do you think I want to learn?” Wu Xie snapped, and all the restless energy that had been contained in his extremities burst forth as he stood, releasing in a wild gesture. Zhang Qiling didn’t move; no matter how attuned his body was to danger, Wu Xie had never been a threat to him in any way those instincts understood. “I need to know, Xiao-ge!”
Zhang Qiling studied him, seeing the way he’d gone lean from hunger—physical and spiritual alike—and hollowed himself out after too many brushes with death. Gone were the soft edges of an unpracticed youth; Wu Xie’s face now bore the sharp edges of all tomb explorers Zhang Qiling knew. It was the same sharpness he himself was carved from, and which would never leave his bones. “Wu Xie, why do you want to search out these answers alone?”
“I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.” Wu Xie shook his head, face set mulishly. “You’ve done so much already, and for what? Some new scars? A story you can’t share?”
Zhang Qiling set his hand on Wu Xie’s shoulder. He wasn’t good at this. Pangzi understood the language of touch, and Wu Xie was free with his physical affection, but Zhang Qiling held himself apart. Most people saw him and the oldest part of their brain, the bit that understood what it meant to be prey, screamed out a warning. Nobody wanted to come so close to someone who could kill them so easily.
Except Wu Xie.
Wu Xie had met Zhang Qiling, seen the danger that he carried, and moved towards him instead.
“Your friends don’t want to see you hurt again,” Zhang Qiling said, because that was true. He hesitated, fingers tightening, before—very softly—adding, “Wu Xie, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
The sound Wu Xie made wasn’t quite the one released when someone was punched. Air wasn’t forced out of Wu Xie’s lungs, and his body wasn’t curled up in physical pain. Wu Xie’s exhale was closer to a sob, heavy and unexpected, and Zhang Qiling kept himself still because he didn’t know what else to do.
Wu Xie’s hands latched onto the soft folds of his clothes. “Xiao-ge,” he said, and then again, as if all other words had left him. “Xiao-ge.”
Zhang Qiling was prepared, this time, for Wu Xie’s kiss.
He still never knew what to do with such desperate warmth, such pure human physicality. His arms came around Wu Xie, holding him up, keeping their bodies close enough for him to feel every way Wu Xie’s muscles moved against him, every hard edge of a button or thick lump where clothes had folded together. Wu Xie’s mouth was on his, searching for something, and Zhang Qiling wanted to give it to him but he didn’t know what Wu Xie was looking for.
He tried his best, regardless.
Zhang Qiling tasted Wu Xie, tongue seeking the residue of alcohol and spices lingering in his mouth. Wu Xie groaned, and his fingers tangled in Zhang Qiling’s hair, tugging insistently. This, Zhang Qiling understood; paying attention to where desire rested in a body was little different from watching a foe to find their weakness or predict their next move.
Wu Xie guided him through the kiss, his body an open book for Zhang Qiling to read, arching into Zhang Qiling’s touch.
(Zhang Qiling couldn’t remember if anyone else had ever done this for him, if anyone else had ever wanted him like this. He didn’t know if the lack of memory was because there had never been anyone else or because he’d forgotten them. He didn’t know which option he preferred. He didn’t want to think about it when he was with Wu Xie, but he couldn’t help it when his body responded without his conscious intent.)
The kiss ended, Wu Xie gasping for breath and Zhang Qiling holding himself back from pressing forward for the more Wu Xie so clearly desired. “Xiao-ge,” Wu Xie said, letting himself drop backwards. “Come here.”
Zhang Qiling didn’t need to let him fall; he could easily carry all of Wu Xie’s weight. But Wu Xie wanted this, and Zhang Qiling wanted to find all the new calluses and scars Wu Xie had acquired since they’d last been together, and so he chased Wu Xie’s weight with his own. They fell onto the bed and Zhang Qiling pinned Wu Xie, fixing him in place for at least this moment, making sure he couldn’t run away again.
Wu Xie rolled his hips up, more a question than a demand. “How much can I have, Xiao-ge?”
Zhang Qiling shook his head and released one of Wu Xie’s arms so he could shove Wu Xie’s hips back down; his body knew the answer better than his mind. “I don’t know,” he said, because Wu Xie needed words. Deserved words. Zhang Qiling could give them to him, usually, but with this he never knew. Sometimes just the feeling of Wu Xie’s arousal was too much. Sometimes he wanted to strip Wu Xie bare and study every inch of his body.
Tonight… he breathed out, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against Wu Xie’s. “Stay with me.”
Wu Xie’s hands wrapped around him, first unbuckling the sword Zhang Qiling had forgotten still lay across his back and then reaching under his shirt to rest against his skin. “I don’t think there’s anywhere I could go where you couldn’t follow,” he said, words as teasing as his fingers. “How do you find me so easily, Xiao-ge?”
Zhang Qiling sighed and settled himself more firmly on top of Wu Xie. He paid attention, he didn’t say; old qilin blood was attuned to itself. “Stay with me,” he repeated instead, burying his nose in the curve of Wu Xie’s shoulder so that he could feel the pulse of Wu Xie’s life rushing through his throat.
Wu Xie made a soft noise of affirmation, and didn’t ask Zhang Qiling anything more.
(Zhang Qiling knew all too well the places he couldn’t travel. He also knew, all too well, that Wu Xie would one day reach them first.)